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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24412180">Overwatch Meets DC</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/names_are_a_mystery_to_me/pseuds/names_are_a_mystery_to_me'>names_are_a_mystery_to_me</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU, Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, No editing we die like mne, will add tags as i add chapters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:07:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24412180</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/names_are_a_mystery_to_me/pseuds/names_are_a_mystery_to_me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>No context. No explanation. Just Harley Quinn coveting Reinhardt's hammer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barry Alllen/Hal Jordan (mentioned), Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton (mentioned), Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Batman and Superman meet Soldier:76 and Reaper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Clark cursed as the trio of miniature rockets hit him square in the face. He shook shrapnel out of his eyes and scanned for his quarry. Surprisingly agile given the age his white hair implied, the man with the “76” jacket was already several buildings away, leaping between rooftops with ease that was only slightly superhuman.</p>
<p>Flying after 76, Clark dove in and reached through the spray of pulse fire to take the man’s rifle and crush it into useless scrap metal. “Listen here, pal,” he said, frowning down at the man’s blank single-lensed mask. “I know you work with that Talon organization, you and the guy with the skull mask. You come with me and talk, and I’ll put in a good word with…”</p>
<p>Clark trailed off as 76 took a dive off the rooftop, and a moment later he was holding the man by the ankle over the alley, staring at him. They were nearly a dozen floors up. “I don’t even know what you thought that would accomplish,” he shook his head.</p>
<p>Upside-down, 76 folded his arms. “What do you want?” he growled, his voice low and harsh in a way that reminded him of Batman. Speaking of…</p>
<p>“Batman, what’s your status?” he asked into his comm. “I’ve got mine.”</p>
<p>“Experiencing difficulties,” Batman growled. “He’s a meta, and a slippery one at that. Turns into smoke if I corner him.”</p>
<p>“I’ll come help,” Clark said. Then he tossed an uncooperative 76 over his shoulder and zeroed in on the sound of Bruce’s heartbeat. It led him to an abandoned warehouse by the water, and although he could hear a rustling sound, there was no second heartbeat. He frowned, and the rustling resolved into heavy footfalls and a heart beating nearly as slowly as Bruce’s. Then the comparatively cacophonous sound of shotgun fire.</p>
<p>He dropped in through the ceiling, and one of the hooded figures in the dark whirled around to point a massive shotgun at him. The other silhouette took the opportunity to leap forward and put the first in a headlock. His head tilted back and Clark saw, under the hood, an eerie white mask.</p>
<p>Then the masked figure dissolved in a flurry of smoke, disappearing from Bruce’s grasp and reappearing on a walkway up near Clark in a black whirlwind. He leveled both of his shotguns at Clark’s face. “Put him down,” he growled, his voice harsher and more vicious than either Batman’s or 76’s.</p>
<p>“Don’t bother, Gabe,” 76 called out, sounding defeated, from his position slung over Clark’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “It won’t affect him.”</p>
<p>“Look, we just want to talk,” Clark tried. “About Talon.” ‘Gabe’ shifted his grip on his shotguns and said nothing.</p>
<p>Batman grappled up to the platform and threw himself into a flying punch, or he tried. Clark grabbed him by the cape and held him back. Bruce tore his cape out of Clark’s grasp and growled. “Can we all just calm down and talk? Look.” He put 76 down on his feet on the walkway. “Let’s start with introductions. I’m Superman, this is my partner, Batman.”</p>
<p>“Soldier:76,” 76 grumbled, brushing dust off his jacket. “And Reaper.”</p>
<p>“I thought your name was Gabe,” Batman said, raising one arm in front of him to tap at his arm computer.</p>
<p>“It’s <i>Reaper</i>,” the masked man growled. He didn’t put away his shotguns, but he did lower them to point at the floor. “Soldier, I’ve told you not to use names in the field. It could compromise everything.”</p>
<p>Clark laughed. “Hey Bats, does he remind you of anyone?” he asked, elbowing Batman gently. Batman only grunted, although Clark could practically hear the eye-roll.</p>
<p>“Talon. Are you going to talk or not?”</p>
<p>There was a long pause, and a three-way staring contest between three people who couldn’t see each other’s eyes. “We don’t have time for this,” Reaper muttered. </p>
<p>“Feel free to hurry this up, then,” Batman replied.</p>
<p>Reaper grunted, then he crossed his guns over his chest and vanished into smoke. Clark cast about with his alien vision, but saw no hint of him. “Prick,” Soldier:76 said, then he sighed. “He deserves this. I’ll talk about Talon, but I’m not in it, so I don’t have anything worth knowing.”</p>
<p>“Wait, you two aren’t in Talon? But our information says-”</p>
<p>Soldier cut Clark off. “He is. I’m not.”</p>
<p>“But you’re…?”</p>
<p>“Partners. It’s a long story.”</p>
<p>True to his word, Soldier -Jack- told them some of what he knew about Talon. When Batman got a call about a “shotgun-wielding ghost” causing havoc, he took off, leaving Jack and Clark in an alley.</p>
<p>“Does he vanish like that a lot?” Jack asked. He’d taken off his mask, revealing a scarred face. He looked tired.</p>
<p>“You have no idea.”</p>
<p>“You met Gabe, right? I have some idea,” Jack replied. He looked Clark over with his eyes slightly narrowed. “Where are you from? Somewhere out midwest?”</p>
<p>Clark laughed ruefully. “Is it that obvious?”</p>
<p>“You said ‘ope’ when you and Batman bumped into each other,” Jack said. “I’m from Indiana myself. Haven’t been back home in years though.”</p>
<p>That was all it took. One accidental ‘ope’ from Clark and they were friends. It turned out Jack was a vigilante type himself, in spite of his attachment to an agent of Talon, and they talked into the wee hours of the morning about vigilante business, melodramatic all-black-wearing boyfriends, and Midwestern things like corn, ignoring tornado sirens, and putting ranch on things.</p>
<p>“B finds it appalling, and I swear, when I asked A for ranch last time I was over for dinner-” Clark shuddered. “-I don’t have to be afraid of much, but then, I learned what true fear felt like.” Jack let out an undignified cackle and slapped his leg. They were sat on the edge of a tall building, the better to watch Bruce and Gabe beat the snot out of each other from a distance. Between Clark’s super-vision and Jack’s visor, they didn’t have to get close enough for either boyfriend to get mad that they weren’t helping.</p>
<p>Jack sighed, looking out at the horizon where just the barest hint of sunrise was showing itself. “This conversation is making me miss home,” he admitted when Clark made a questioning noise. “Some days I think I should retire, move back out to a farm somewhere. But there’s nothing out there for me anymore.”</p>
<p>Clark nodded. It was too soon after meeting someone to take them to visit his parents, if nothing else Bruce would have an aneurysm, but he made a mental note to look into the possibility if Jack proved himself trustworthy. Clark liked him, a lot, and Jack had offered a lot of vaguely fatherly advice that reminded Clark of his Pa. He was younger than he looked, but Jack still carried the weight of years of experience that Clark didn’t have.</p>
<p>The sun peeked over the horizon, and Clark sighed. “Alright, welp...” he stood up, and held out a hand to pull Jack to his feet. The older man took it, grimacing as he stretched, and Clark raised an eyebrow. He didn’t need super hearing to hear the chorus of crackling noises that came from Jack’s joints.</p>
<p>“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he muttered. He nodded. “I’ll try to bring Gabe around to the idea of not murdering your boyfriend.”</p>
<p>“Thanks. I’ll talk to B about replacing your gun,” Clark responded. “Sorry about that, by the way.”</p>
<p>Jack waved a hand. “Oh no, you’re fine.” He replaced his mask. “Next time Gabe does something stupid, I’ll call you and we can go fight Talon.” Jack braced to jump off the building, and Clark grabbed him under the arms and neatly deposited him on the sidewalk.</p>
<p>They said their goodbyes, which took until the sun was well up, and Clark sped back to the Cave to make sure Bruce was alright and also inform him of their new ally against Talon.</p>
<p>Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, unaware that somewhere else in the city, at that moment, one Gabriel Reyes was making the exact same gesture.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Moira Meets Select Members Of Batman's Rogues' Gallery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Let's be real, Moira would fit right in in the Rogues' Gallery.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The formerly-abandoned laboratory was in the basement of a condemned building in Gotham. Moira shook her head. “We should use my facility in Oasis next time,” she said, as she ran one finger along a countertop and shuddered at the dust that came up.</p><p>“You say that like I would work with you three again,” said Poison Ivy, or Dr. Pamela Isley. She swept a table clear of old equipment, ignoring the shattering noises, and set down a tray of potted seedlings. She hauled a heavy duffel bag off of her shoulder and began unpacking bottles of unknown chemicals and a portable grow-light that she set up over the seedlings.</p><p>“We share common enemies, and common fears,” said Scarecrow, although he wasn’t wearing his hood. They were all in street clothes, although Moira and Scarecrow’s outfits were more ‘office clothes’ and Ivy’s were more ‘farm clothes’.</p><p>Scarecrow, Dr. Jonathan Crane, set down his own bag on the other end of Ivy’s long table, then ducked as she chucked a broken beaker at his head.</p><p>“Get your own table, asshole.”</p><p>“I like this one.”</p><p>Moira, not known for her interpersonal skills, found herself stepping in to smooth things over. Once she got Isley and Crane safely working at separate tables, she noticed the fourth member of their little club had arrived. “Ah, Dr. Langstrom,” she greeted, and pointed him to a table across from Crane and next to her own. “I look forward to working with you. Oh, do be careful, there’s an awful lot of broken glass about.”</p><p>Dr. Kirk Langstrom, usually known as the Man-bat, laid out his own materials as Moira did the same. “Thank you for inviting me, Dr. O’Deorain. This is so very exciting.”</p><p>“Crane, if you touch my stuff I will germinate my next crop of seeds in your corpse, I swear to god,” Isley swore, and Moira and Langstrom looked over as Crane guiltily scooted back over to his own table.</p><p>None of them were especially used to working with others, at least not on projects this far beyond “legal” and “ethical”, but as Crane had pointed out, they had common enemies. Batman had, through Superman, allied himself with Soldier: 76 and presumably the rest of the ex-Overwatch vigilante crowd.</p><p>“And then there’s the Talon group,” Langstrom added at that point in the conversation. “Not that I don’t sympathize with their mission, but there isn’t much room in an international organization for a zoologist with ambitions of biochemistry and genetics.”</p><p>“You may be surprised, Dr. Langstrom,” Moira responded. “You may not have the academic qualifications, but your work speaks for itself.” She had a vial of Langstrom’s latest Man-bat formula on her desk, tiny samples of it in various other containers reacting with her own additions. “There could be room in Talon’s heart, and more importantly its budget, for an innovative researcher like yourself.”</p><p>At the word “budget”, Isley and Crane both paid more attention.</p><p>“This is an audition of sorts, isn’t it,” Crane asked, but it wasn’t really a question. “You brought us here to see what we could do.”</p><p>“Not quite. I know what you can <i>do</i>, there’s no doubt in your abilities. The question is whether you have the personality type my employers are looking for,” Moira responded evenly. “Or even one we could work with.”</p><p>Nods all around the room. Isley drummed her fingers on the table, her brow furrowed, contemplating several compounds that Moira had lent her for the work session. Even without the implied offer of employment -even the most antisocial researcher needed funding- this meeting was a rare opportunity to collaborate with other people in the field of scientific villainy. Sure, they were all keeping both secrets and tabs on each other, they weren’t <i>stupid</i>, but still.</p><p>Crane chuckled to himself, then it turned into a cackle. As one, the other three reached into their bags and produced gas masks, which they pulled on before resuming work. Crane looked almost offended, but as previously said, they weren’t <i>stupid</i>.</p><p>*****</p><p>Somewhere else in Gotham, two women stared at a computer screen. One, a redhead in a sensible sweater, sat in a wheelchair while she organized the tabs from the seven cameras and four hidden microphones monitoring the science club. The other, darker and wearing clothes and augmentations in bold purple, tapped at a holoscreen while keeping an eye on the cameras.</p><p>“Oasis is in Iraq, my reach out there is limited,” Oracle said, as the scientists lapsed into silence. “Do you have any contacts there?”</p><p>Sombra laughed. “What do you think?” She waved off Oracle’s glare. “Yeah, yeah, I have a friend I can get in touch with if they move out there. Thanks for the help with my Bat problem by the way.”</p><p>“Thanks for the tip, even if it was delivered via hacking my systems,” Oracle replied. “Not often anyone gets in, let alone without me noticing. I was torn between asking you for tips and calling for your head on a pole.” She stopped talking as the microphones picked up voices, but it was just Isley and O’Deorain flirting while Crane mimed sticking a finger down his throat. “Mind answering a question, though?”</p><p>“I won’t know until you ask,” Sombra replied.</p><p>“You work for Talon. Why on Earth would you be helping me?”</p><p>“Let’s just say I have friends on all sides,” Sombra said. “I also have a functioning brain. The idea of Moira getting her hands on fear toxin, or Man-bat serum, or sex pollen? It scares me more than it scares you, because I know her.” She shrugged. “Also, I didn’t get into anything really juicy in your computer, and I want to know what you know. You have to have good material on the Bats.”</p><p>Oracle laughed. “You have no idea.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tracer Meets The Flash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A race from one end of Great Britain to the other, and bonding over food and time travel. :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tracer stretched, briefly pausing to check her watch as she looked out to the sea north of the Duncansby Head lighthouse. It was scenic and beautiful, but she wasn’t here to do yoga and meditate. She was warming up for a race that was supposed to start almost ten minutes ago.</p><p>In a rush of air and crackle of lightning, a figure in bright red joined her. “-am so sorry, there was this guy who needed my help and then I got lost and-” The Flash shook himself and held out a hand, which she shook. “I’m the Flash. You can call me Barry, if you want, but not while I’m in the costume.”</p><p>“Tracer, but you can call me Lena, whether I’m in costume or not,” she replied. “Winston said you might be able to beat my record, here to the signpost at Land’s End in seventeen seconds.” Granted, her chronal accelerator had barely survived the journey, but Winston had reinforced it with this race in mind, and she no longer needed to worry about slipping the time stream.</p><p>“Seventeen seconds, I can do that,” Flash nodded, jogging lightly on the spot. “What are we waiting for?”</p><p>They both took up runner’s starts, with their rear feet braced against the wall of the lighthouse. Tracer held her hand over the timer button on her digital watch and counted down. </p><p>“Three, two, one, go!”</p><p>The Scottish coastline flashed by as Tracer blinked as fast as her harness would allow, close on the heels of a red-and-gold blur. After a moment or two, she got into the rhythm, blinking between steps instead of on them, and she started to draw even with the Flash. He glanced over his shoulder and stumbled, that millisecond of distraction giving Tracer the chance to pull forward into what at this speed and course length was a cozy lead.</p><p>It got much less cozy once they hit Edinburgh, because for all that her reaction times often seemed infinitesimal, Tracer still processed sensory input at normal human speeds, and she had to slow down ever so slightly to avoid running into any people or vehicles. Flash didn’t have the same issues, navigating crowded streets without as much as a lightning bolt out of place, and he regained the lead just as they returned to the countryside.</p><p>Tracer struggled to keep her breathing even- time felt slower when she was moving this fast, and while it had probably been eight or nine seconds on the outside, it felt like she’d been running in a dead-out sprint for much longer. She steeled herself and pushed her body to go a little faster, the shocks radiating up her shins from her feet impacting the road. Every extra inch of distance she wrung out of her physical body was multiplied when she blinked, and she needed to get a solid lead on Flash before they hit Manchester and Liverpool.</p><p>A quick look as she passed him showed Flash to be breathing hard, at least for him. From what Winston had told her, Flash rarely showed signs of physical exertion at all. <i>Ha!</i> she thought to herself as she ignored the stitch in her side. <i>She was keeping up with -no, </i>outpacing<i>- the fastest man alive.</i></p><p>Her lead wasn’t enough, the Flash breezing ahead as they threaded their way between Manchester and Liverpool, but she kept on his tail until he unexpectedly veered off the road and started moving distinctly southwest.</p><p>It took her a fraction of a second -too long- to realize he was planning to cut across the Bristol Channel, run on the water to shave precious seconds off his time. She turned to follow him, and couldn’t spare the breath to curse. She lost sight of him as he turned south early, to run along the coastline through Newport, Cardiff, and -funnily enough- the town of Barry. He’d clearly noticed that he held the advantage in cities, and intended to use that fact to its full potential.</p><p>He didn’t know the geography nearly as well as she did, though. She stayed out of the busy areas and angled towards the Bristol Channel further west, aiming for the most direct route possible. She braced herself as the ground disappeared from underneath her, replaced by water.</p><p>She wasn’t really running on the water. It was more like she was a rock being skipped, temporal distortion preserving her momentum enough that she probably wasn’t going to go for a swim, but it still took all her focus to stay balanced.</p><p>There was a flicker of lightning on the cloudless horizon, and Flash zoomed into view, clearly far more comfortable with the process. He gave her a cheery wave in the millisecond she could afford to have her concentration split, but she didn’t have it in her to wave back.</p><p>Back on solid land, thanking God that her shoes hadn’t taken on water, Tracer doubled down for the final stretch. She was thrilled by the success of her first water run, and as she and Flash fell back into the same route, the gap between them closed.</p><p>By the time they dashed into the -thankfully, nearly empty- parking lot that contained their destination, they were neck in neck. Flash started to slow down, noticing the seemingly sheer drop on the other side, but Tracer put on one last burst of speed and dove for the signpost.</p><p>The good news was, she reached the post first, winning their race and setting a new personal record. The bad news was, the post was anchored through a hefty chunk of rock and into the stone and concrete below.</p><p>“Oh my god, are you okay?” Flash shouted. Tracer looked up through her cracked goggles, feeling pain blooming through her nose and cheeks.</p><p>“Post: one. Tracer: one. Flash: zero!” she said, putting her arms up above her head and kicking her legs against the pavement. “Woo! I won!”</p><p>“I think you need to go to a hospital, oh jesus that’s a lot of blood,” Flash said, crouching down and removing her goggles to look into her eyes. “Do you have a concussion, do you- do you-” He stammered himself into silence as Tracer smiled a bloody smile up at him before disappearing in a flash of blue energy.</p><p>He sped to his feet, looking around wildly. His mind flashed through countless possibilities. Had she become disconnected from the time stream? Had something gone wrong with her time harness thingy? Was this his fault, somehow?</p><p>A heart-stopping half-second later, Tracer blinked back into view at a relatively sedate pace. She was clear of blood or broken face bones, and was smiling as she took her -still cracked- goggles back from his shaking hands.</p><p>“Oh thank god, you’re alive!” he said, collapsing to the ground with relief. Concerned, she crouched down next to him. “I thought you’d vanished into the Speedforce or something.”</p><p>She laughed. “I don’t have any Speedforce, but I hear it makes you bloody hungry. Want to go eat at my favourite chippy?”</p><p>Only a few minutes later, they both had large orders of fish and chips and were happily munching away in a corner booth of a shop somewhere in London.</p><p>“Winston says thank you, by the way,” Tracer said, having downed enough chips to stop and think. Flash kept shoveling food into his mouth, but he turned as red as his suit when she said that.</p><p>“I didn’t really do anything,” he insisted, after hurriedly swallowing and almost choking. “I just made a few introductions, that’s all.”</p><p>“It’s just…” Tracer poked at the dregs of her meal. “He’s never really had anyone else like him, at least not since he came to Earth. He seems so happy in Gorilla City. He has somewhere he belongs. Thank you for making that happen. From both of us.”</p><p>Flash turned an even more vibrant shade of red, if that was possible, and resumed eating. When he was done eating, at least enough to slow down, he paused. His brow furrowed, and he avoided her eyes. “Look, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about time stuff, but… I’ve had some time experiences too. I was wondering if we could compare notes?”</p><p>“I’m not much for notes, but I’ve never met anyone who could understand the time stuff I went through,” she admitted. “There was a while where I didn’t really exist? And everything was out of sync.” She shivered. “I still have nightmares about it.”</p><p>Flash nodded. “I went back in time to stop a murder and accidentally created an apocalyptic parallel timeline,” he said. “You know, as you do.”</p><p>“As you do, yeah.” Tracer looked around. “Doesn’t look all that apocalyptic to me, although I will admit, there were some close calls.”</p><p>“I fixed it, obviously,” he said. “Had to stop my past self from saving my- that person, which, uh, really sucked.”</p><p>They swapped time travel stories, tips to avoid the perils of Going Really Fast, and funny coworker anecdotes until politeness dictated they had to leave the chip shop. As they left, Tracer finally touched on her earlier career as a pilot, and Flash’s eyes widened.</p><p>“You’re a pilot? No way. Do you know Green Lantern? He’s a test pilot, I bet you guys would have loads to talk about.”</p><p>Tracer frowned. “Which Green Lantern are we talking about? Aren’t there, like, five of them?”</p><p>“Six, actually, six human ones at least. Off-world, there’s thousands. But I’m talking about the first human one, he’s actually also my boyfriend.”</p><p>Tracer’s face lit up with the joy an LGBT+ person feels when discovering another of their kind. She grabbed Flash’s arm. “Do you want to meet my girlfriend? We don’t live far from here!”</p><p>And in a flash, they were gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Symmetra Meets The Four Corpsmen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is a short one, but I had to get it out. Symmetra bonds with John Stewart over light constructs and architecture. Hal, Guy, and Kyle bond with each other over pain.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You are able to create designs directly from your thoughts? How interesting,” Symmetra examined John Stewart’s construct with undisguised curiosity, ignoring the screams. “I find myself somewhat envious that you are not bogged down by the design process.”</p><p>“There are downsides,” John replied, also ignoring the screaming, which was now accompanied by begging. “It’s fueled by my willpower, and in general, the constructs are limited by their ringbearer. Your constructs function independently of your mental state.”</p><p>Symmetra nodded in acquiescence before putting her hands together and forming a similar sample construct for John to look over. “I noticed your constructs are far superior to your…” She sniffed. “...<i>colleagues’</i>. You clearly have some architectural education, not to mention considerable design ability.”</p><p>Her gaze snapped to one side, and with a quick gesture, her construct became a turret, which was sent buzzing towards the commotion.</p><p>On the other side of the room, Guy Gardner shouted in triumph as the remains of one of those blasted turrets vanished into shards of light, only for Kyle Rayner to tap him on the shoulder and point at the new turret incoming. On the floor, several turrets focused their beams on a sobbing Hal Jordan.</p><p>“If you are ever seeking a change in employment…” Symmetra began.</p><p>The fresh turret attached to the wall and after a moment of calibration, locked its beam onto Guy’s crotch. He swiftly joined Hal in crying on the ground.</p><p>“I’ll keep it in mind,” John replied.</p>
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